An Education
by Calenheniel
Summary: [Hans x Elsa; 2 years post-film.] A Snow Queen strikes an unexpected deal with a long-forgotten foe, and lessons are learned.
1. I

**Author's Note** : Thanks to my best friend IRL and also yumi-michiyo for beta-reading this, and to katsudov on Tumblr for helping me develop the concept way back when. Also shout-outs to the always-wonderful and patient lisuli79. In fact, you're all too patient with me, so thanks bunches.

* * *

 **I.**

"Do you know why I called for you, little brother?"

Hans looked bored as he stood before the throne, and rocked back on his heels. "No idea, Your Majesty."

His eldest brother's gaze narrowed. "Her Majesty, Queen Elsa of Arendelle, is finally paying us a visit," he said. "No one told you?"

The youngest prince stood to attention, his brow twitching. "No one tells me anything, apparently," he replied, clasping his hands together behind his back. "I suppose you'll be locking me up in the dungeons while she's here, so you can all pretend like you've actually been punishing me for my crimes against her kingdom?"

The king frowned. "Don't try my patience, Hans," he warned, folding his arms, "and no, you will not be 'locked up' during her visit. But I do expect you to be on your best behavior, should you two have the misfortune of running into each other during her stay."

Hans stared at his sibling in disbelief. "What—you're just going to let me roam the palace unguarded, even while she's here?" he asked. "Don't you think that _she_ might object to that, Your Highness?"

"Her Majesty has already agreed to visit on these terms," the king replied, baffling his youngest brother. "It appears that she does not fear you as she once did."

He paused as Han remained in shock, and then smiled. "Though I would still warn you against saying anything foolish to the Queen, if the right hook of her younger sister is anything to go by," he remarked, tapping his right eye for emphasis.

Hans frowned at the reminder. "I'd be more worried about her ice than her punch," he muttered.

The king's stare was cool. "I highly doubt that Her Highness would want to waste her powers on _you_."

Hans swallowed, his smile thin. "You're right, of course, Your Majesty. She wouldn't bother."

His brother nodded. "Good, I'm glad we're agreed on that point. You may go now."

Hans bowed deeply, allowing himself a moment to scowl at the marble floor below. When he rose to stand, his expression had returned to one of false admiration.

"As you wish, Your Highness."

* * *

 _You're no match for Elsa._ I _, on the other hand—_

He winced at the memory.

 _You didn't turn out to be much of a "hero" at all, did you?_

The idea made him scoff as he sat on the floor in the archives of the library, having long since given up on trying to read an old encyclopedia on the history of Arendelle and its surrounding kingdoms.

In fact, he was so far from even the _notion_ of heroism that he could hardly believe he'd ever once thought himself capable of being considered one. That was evident enough, he thought, from his current seat amongst dusty stacks of long-forgotten books.

Still, it gave him the quiet he needed after his conversation with the king; he closed the book he'd been skimming and laid it in his lap as he leaned against a shelf, staring at the thin pillar of light filtering in from the small skylight above him.

 _It appears that she does not fear you as she once did._

His brows furrowed. Even if that were the case - seeing as two years had passed since his "incident" in Arendelle, and he was sure that the business of managing a kingdom had kept its queen too busy to dwell on the past - he didn't understand how she could accept his presence during her visit, let alone run the risk of running into him while there.

 _More to the point_ , he thought, _how can she accept the fact that I wasn't imprisoned after what I did to her and Anna?_

It appeared, after all, that his brother had told the Queen that Hans had been under house arrest in the palace for all this time, and yet she'd agreed to come all the same.

 _But… why?_

He remembered the fire in her blue eyes at the ball following her coronation when she refused to give her blessing to his and Anna's engagement. More to the point, he recalled the horror in that same gaze when he told her that she'd killed her own sister, and the way the storm was suspended in mid-air by her heartbreak.

There was no way she could have forgotten all of that, and yet—

 _She does not fear you as she once did._

Perhaps his brother was right, and it was really that simple: she had, no doubt, heard the tale of his return to the court of the Southern Isles as a wretched failure, unceremoniously dumped in chains at the dock by the French ambassador sporting an impressive black eye. That being followed by his continued humiliation through being placed under "house arrest" - confined to the palace grounds and all his titles taken away - only to be rolled out for special occasions to entertain drunken courtiers or visiting dignitaries. After learning all of that, surely it would be natural for her to feel confident that the youngest prince no longer posed a threat to her, nor to anyone else.

Nonetheless, the idea that she could be completely unaffected by it - by _him_ \- unsettled Hans.

 _I don't believe it._

* * *

The Queen of Arendelle's arrival was greeted with all the adoring fanfare that a visiting monarch usually received at court, if not more on account of her legendary powers and beauty. Lords, ladies, and peasants alike formed long queues along the roadsides, palace walls, and garden hedges just to catch a glimpse of her, to touch the train of her dress as she passed, or to be, for a fleeting moment, the recipient of her regal gaze.

At least, that was what he'd overheard from conversations throughout the palace traded in high, excited tones between dull damsels and simple squires. The truth, he imagined, was far less thrilling.

Although he knew he could trail after her wherever she went at court, or even go right up to her and kiss her hand and ask her to dance, he understood his place better than that.

(And he knew that when the king had told him to be on his "best behavior" during her visit, what he'd meant was _stay out of sight, Hans, if you know what's good for you_.)

And so he had, to the point that he was disappointed not to overhear any concerns that he might show up and confront the Ice Queen in the whispers at court. Instead, all of the tittering laughs and feigned smiles seemed purely centered on currying her favor, even if only in the form of a quick glance or a rare smile from her pale lips.

 _Lips_ , he realized, _that I have not seen in a long time._

The thought reignited his curiosity about her in a way that all of his eavesdropping had not, and it brought back to his mind memories of that time which he'd tried hard to forget since his ignominious return home.

 _As heir, Elsa was preferable, of course._

He suddenly recalled, even more clearly than the look of shock on Anna's face, his original plans for his visit to Arendelle - wooing the newly-crowned Queen Elsa at her coronation ball, marrying her, becoming her King - and the knowledge of how they fell apart cast a shadow across his face.

 _But no one was getting anywhere with her._

At the time, that had seemed to be the only truth, for how could he have swept the Queen of Ice and Snow off her feet after years spent in isolation from the outside world, with no knowledge of love (and certainly none of romance) outside of books? And after seeing her powers at their full strength, how could he pursue her without putting his own life at risk?

 _She doomed herself._

Given what he'd heard about her "love life" - or lack thereof - since then, it seemed unlikely that anyone would be getting "anywhere" with her anytime soon. Rumors had circulated for years that she had already rejected a handful of suitors since the end of the Long Winter, though the court at Arendelle appeared to be far more tolerant of having an unmarried queen than the one of the Southern Isles.

He supposed a part of him admired her independence, if not at the same time was a little jealous of it. She, after all, had everything that he'd ever wanted or desired: a crown upon her head, a kingdom under her control, a citizenry that adored her, and a family that lov—

"Enough of that," he cut off his own train of thought. He stood from his unmade bed in his chambers, ignoring the cloud of dust that followed his sudden movement. Staring into the mirror above his desk opposite, he saw his reflection peer back at him in the day's fading light.

 _I will see you again, Elsa._

* * *

He waited until the moment was right.

It didn't come until her fourth full day in the Isles - after she had completed all of her requisite tours of the docks, stepped aboard the kingdom's famed cargo ships, greeted high-ranking officers of the Royal Navy, sampled the famed seafood in the villages nearest to shore - but if Hans had learned anything in all his years of scheming, it was to be patient.

And to listen.

He paid close attention to the conversations of his brother's advisers as they left the throne room that morning, just the same way he used to when he was younger. They were indiscreet as always, broadcasting the private itinerary of the visiting queen for all to hear as they trundled down the halls. It made it easy for him to piece together where she would be and when following her day out: stuck in meetings with the king and those advisers until the early evening, and then in attendance at a private dinner with the queen and some of his brothers.

He planned his own schedule accordingly, spending most of the day as a shadow, invisible, absorbing as much information as he could about her stay so far. He learned which dresses she'd worn where, the style her hair had been in on Monday versus Wednesday, the state of Arendelle's ice trade, and the particulars of the negotiations that had brought her to the Isles. Anything and everything related to her became of interest to him… just as it had been the first time he visited Arendelle.

 _I just want to get a good look at her,_ he told himself. _I can't expect anything more than that._

He straightened out his white jacket and the olive cravat under his chin - the same clothes he'd worn during their first meeting - though of course neither were in such fine condition as on that evening, and his jacket no longer bore its signature epaulettes. He supposed she would prefer to see it that way, considering how she must think of him.

 _If she even thinks of you at all._

He frowned as his brother's voice reminded him of his insignificance. He couldn't - no, _wouldn't_ \- accept that someone he had once so terribly wronged could forget him. _And I don't want her to,_ he thought as he left his room, taking care to avoid all his usual shortcuts and secret routes.

If he was going to see her, to stand before her, and to _look_ at her, then he would damn well make sure that everyone else would watch him do it.

* * *

Of course, nothing ever came that easily for the last-born prince of the Southern Isles.

Dinner with his sister-in-law and brothers went on for hours while he milled conspicuously about the great halls of the palace, ignoring the glares from the guards stationed outside of the dining chamber.

 _I should've known this would happen,_ he thought, irritated. _Karoline always drones on, let alone how Adrian and Frederick like to boast and gloat like buffoons._

He almost felt a little sorry for the Ice Queen, trapped at a table with his relatives. He was sure that she was wishing she could use her powers to blast a hole in the wall and escape the insipid company.

The idea made him grin a bit to himself as he waited, let alone all the other things he imagined would follow such a cataclysmic breach of propriety (the hair-pulling of the princes' wives, the shouting and accusations of the princes), and it kept his mind occupied until he finally heard the doors open, their creaks echoing throughout the palace.

He hid in the shadows of a nearby corridor on instinct, watching his brothers and their wives pass in a jovial, drunken horde. However, as soon as he realised what he was doing, he cursed himself under his breath, stepping out into the central hall again.

It was lucky, then, that the two queens had remained behind in the hall to speak a while longer. An opportunity to confront her in person remained, and he stayed firmly in his spot near the doors where he was illuminated by both moon and torchlight.

 _She'll have_ _to see me, now._

The guards leered at him from their posts, hands rested on the hilts of their swords. He patted down his jacket and trousers before raising his hands in mock surrender to them, and returned their unpleasant expressions with a nonchalant smile.

"Hans! What are you doing here?"

The prince, at last, was rewarded for his patience. "Your Majesty, my apologies for the intrusion," he bowed to Karoline, who, along with her gaggle of horrified-looking handmaidens, was blocking his view of the guest of honor. "I was just taking an evening stroll through the palace."

"He's been lurking around for a while now, Your Highness," a guard to his left corrected. "Don't believe a word he says."

The queen's back straightened, and she eyed Hans with her chin raised. "I wouldn't, of course—thank you Josef," she said. "Now, _brother_ , would you please go? I'm sure our guest doesn't want to see you."

"Are you, Your Highness?" he returned, catching the edges of the Ice Queen's silk dress at the corner of his vision, the pale skin of her shoulder, a wisp of golden hair. "Have you asked her?"

Karoline reddened. "As if I would need to ask such a thing after what you did, you impertinent little—"

"It's all right, Your Majesty."

He hardly had time to catch his breath before she stepped out from behind her host, entering into and sharing his light in one smooth, long movement. He fought the urge to swallow as he took in her figure, her cream-colored dress bathing her in an unearthly glow, before he met the blue eyes he remembered so well.

 _Finally._

She turned to face the queen. "Please go on to bed, Your Highness. I'd like to speak with the Prince alone, if I may."

Karoline was bemused. "But Queen Elsa, I really must protest—"

"It's all right," her guest interrupted. "I can assure you that I'm more than capable of defending myself."

She conjured a snowflake for effect, and the queen flushed with embarrassment. "If you must, Your Highness," she conceded, shooting Hans a threatening look. "I'll see you in the morning. Good night."

"Good night," Elsa replied, and curtsied as the queen retreated with her reluctant and tittering ladies-in-waiting and personal guardsmen. With another quick glance to her right and left, the Ice Queen's own ladies and guards likewise went out of sight.

Hans watched the events unfold with wonder; she had become, in the two years since he'd last seen her, rather remarkable.

Her eyes were back on him in what seemed like a flash of light, all of the softness and grace gone from her expression as it appraised him. "I expected I might run into you at some point," she said, "but you've always had very poor timing."

He blinked in surprise, almost smiling, and then bowed. "My deepest apologies for that, Your Majesty," he acknowledged, adding: "And for everything else, of course. I wish we could've met again under better circumstances."

She stared at him, perplexed. "I'm not sure how much better the circumstances of this meeting could've been," she remarked, "especially for you."

He couldn't hide his amusement. "Point taken, Your Majesty," he agreed. "Things being as they are, I'm very pleased to see you looking so well."

Her nose wrinkled at the compliment. "All the better for not being cut down by your sword, and my sister for not being an ice sculpture."

He winced at the reminder. "Of course," he nodded, putting on a guilty look.

 _She_ definitely _hasn't forgotten you_.

He found himself working harder than usual to maintain his composure under her scrutiny as she continued. "So what is it, Hans? Why are you so 'pleased' to see me, after all this time?"

He should've anticipated that question and prepared an answer for it, in all the minutes and hours and days prior to this reunion with her—and yet, as they stood there face to face, her gaze penetrating in its intensity, nothing came to mind.

"I—"

 _I just wanted you to see me._

He couldn't tell her such a childish, selfish thing—not unless he _wanted_ her to turn him into a frozen figurine for palace spectators. He had a feeling that she knew his motives even without him telling her, anyway.

"I didn't intend to see you when I heard you were coming to court," he began again in an even tone, taking his time. "Magnus - my older brother, the king, whom I'm sure you've been acquainted with already - he certainly didn't want me anywhere near you." He paused for effect, testing her patience. "But you know how courtiers like to gossip—and oh, do they like to gossip about _you_ , Your Majesty!" he exclaimed, making her frown. "Nothing terrible, I can assure you; most of it was merely praising you for your great beauty and good manners. But there were others, too, who… let's just say didn't paint the _kindest_ of pictures of the visiting queen."

She glared at him. "Your point being?"

He shrugged. "I just wanted to see you again for myself, after hearing all that. Find out what's true, and what's not."

It wasn't a great cover, but it peaked her interest. "So now that you've seen me, what are your conclusions?"

He smiled. "You're far more impressive than any of them could describe," he replied, "and you always have been."

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Don't bother with flattery."

He mirrored her, placing his hands behind his back, and watched as her eyes followed his every movement. "I thought it was worth a try," he joked; at her unamused look, he continued, circling her as he spoke. "To be perfectly honest with you, though, Queen Elsa, there is _one_ thing that did surprise me, and which I wanted to ask you about in person."

Her nose twitched. "And what was that?"

He paused behind her to drink in the beautiful, long curvature of her back through the dress, dedicating every detail of her delicate form to his memory—but not long enough to raise any suspicions.

"Only that you'd recently turned down an offer of marriage from a certain Spanish prince - Diego? Was that his name? - even though his family had proposed quite favorable terms," Hans answered, watching with some satisfaction as her spine bristled. "Rumor has it that even Princess Anna was inclined to the union, and was rather disappointed when he left broken-hearted—"

She snorted derisively, to his surprise, cutting him off mid-sentence. "Oh please," she said, glaring at him, "no one was 'broken-hearted' about any of it, least of all _him_." She looked away again, and was quiet for a moment. "He couldn't have been."

His brow rose at the candid remark. "Oh? And why is that, Your Majesty?"

Her frown returned, and he knew he'd pushed his luck. " _That_ is none of your concern, Hans," she snapped, "nor should such rumors excite you. In fact," she added, regarding him with more and more displeasure by the minute, "it seems as if you've hardly changed at all in the last two years, to ask me about such things."

"I've changed," he countered, taking her off-guard. "Maybe not as much as you, but… things are certainly different for me now."

 _I have nothing to lose._

He boldly met her eyes, and asked again: "So tell me, Queen Elsa: why couldn't Prince Diego have been broken-hearted by your rejection?"

There was still anger in her face at the question, though it had dulled somewhat; her cheeks, hot with indignation, glowed red in the moonlight. "Why do you want to know?"

He feigned indifference. "I'm just curious."

He expected her to scold him for his insolence again, and a part of him even wanted her to do that, and then storm off in a huff. However, she only paused, staring at him quizzically, and he wondered if it was the first time that anyone had actually pressed her on this subject outside of her sister.

 _Not that Anna would know the right questions to ask,_ he mused, _let alone the right words to say._

"He—" she stopped to collect herself, just as he had before her. "He didn't love me, nor did he intend to love me," she said at length. "I could tell from the second we first met, and every moment after."

He was a little moved by the admission, if only for a minute. "Did that really come as a surprise to you, Your Majesty?" he inquired somewhat incredulously. "These kinds of marriages are hardly ever based on 'true love,' or anything like it."

She glared at him again. "You certainly tried to make Anna understand that, didn't you?"

He hardly had time to respond to the pointed jab before she continued, sighing: "Of course I know that, anyway—it's never just about 'love.' But I should have at least liked some _respect_ , if I were to have seriously considered his offer."

He looked at her in confusion. "He was not respectful towards you?"

Her face darkened three shades, and she turned away from him.

"No," she said quietly. "He was not."

And with those three words, Hans understood.

"I see," he said simply, and let her have a quiet moment before adding: "That must have been… difficult for you, I imagine."

"It was awkward at first, and then quickly became unpleasant, because I—" she stopped, her cheeks burning, and her eyes still turned away from his. "It doesn't matter. It's done, now."

"That it is," Hans agreed, watching her. However, enjoying seeing her so nervous after her earlier cool and calm, he couldn't help but stir the pot further. "But really, how unseemly of a suitor to act in that way! Not that I'm one to talk, but you know," he reflected, earning an irritated look from her, "it's quite tasteless to so blatantly proposition a lady, much less a _queen_ , when—"

She stared at him again when he paused, just as he'd hoped she might. "When what?"

"Nothing, it's nothing, Your Majesty," he excused himself, waving away the matter. "Forget I said anything."

She frowned. "I will not—so please, continue with whatever point you were trying to make, _Hans_."

He nearly grinned. "It's really not important."

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms even more tightly together, and a thin line of ice began to form along the floor from where her foot tapped against it. "Just come out with it already."

He eyed the ice cautiously, and pretended to look sorrier than ever for his next words. "It's just that… well, I can't say it's unknown that the Queen of Ice and Snow spent most of her formative years locked away in the castle," he began, sensing her anger grow, "and that, even after the end of the Long Winter, she often remains confined to it as she tends to her royal duties." He paused to meet her eyes, which had more fire than ice in their depths as they burned holes in him. He regarded her with sympathy. "It's understandable that she would have precious little time for herself and addressing her own... _needs_ , when she's so busy entertaining others."

Her face flushed in that singularly delightful way as she finally caught his meaning, though she was too embarrassed to deny his suggestion outright.

He continued in her silence: "That being said, I simply meant that such a woman - no, a _queen_ \- requires a bit more finesse to approach on any matter, let alone one of such a, shall we say, 'delicate' nature?"

Her gaze turned stony, though her face remained deliciously red.

"Because she's inexperienced, is what I suppose you're getting at?"

He swallowed, trying not to gape.

 _Queen Elsa, ever full of surprises._

"Yes," he replied at length, "something like that."

Silence drifted over them—one that unsettled him more than anything else had in a long while. For the first time in their exchange thus far, he couldn't get a read on her expression, much less what she was thinking.

 _Probably that she'll have me hung by the balls from the palace gates tomorrow morning._

The image almost made him choke on a nervous laugh, and set his heart beating faster than he would've liked.

"But she doesn't have to be."

(And made his mouth run when it shouldn't.)

He regretted the words as soon as they left his lips, expecting that he'd be frozen solid within a few seconds.

Instead, she stared at him with detached curiosity. "No?" she asked. "And why is that?"

His mouth felt dry as a desert, and his mind empty as a bottle of wine at the end of one of his brother's parties.

"Because she can be taught," he answered without thinking. "Like anyone else."

"Like anyone else," the queen repeated, seeming to consider the idea.

He nodded. "Yes," he said with absurd confidence, "naturally."

Her skin warmed until it glowed dusky rose in the torchlight, the moon hidden by passing clouds, and her eyes gleamed.

"Then teach me."


	2. II

**Author's Note:** Thanks everyone for your feedback on the first chapter. I am very happy to be writing for you all again! I should note that this story has a definite end: it will be five parts in total. Expect sexual content to become more explicit as the story progresses.

* * *

 **II.**

"That was quite the spectacle you put on last night."

Hans swallowed a yawn. He hadn't gotten a wink of sleep, and wasn't in the mood to be dealing with his brother. "There wasn't enough of an audience for it to be called a 'spectacle,'" he remarked, shrugging.

The king sneered at him. "My mistake, little brother—clearly, my wife, the _queen_ , and the visiting queen of another kingdom weren't enough to satisfy your flair for drama."

"It was hardly a drama, Your Majesty," the prince replied, unfazed. "I had a private conversation with Her Highness, Queen Elsa of Arendelle. That's all."

Magnus frowned. "You directly disobeyed my orders, Hans."

Hans blinked in innocent surprise. "Did I?"

"I told you in this very room just a few days ago to be on your best behavior, and to be sure not to say anything foolish to our guest. Obviously, that was asking too much of you," his brother said, though he never raised his voice.

 _He doesn't need to,_ Hans reflected, _when he's speaking with a child._

The youngest prince put on a sheepish look. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I thought that you were merely _suggesting_ I take these matters into consideration, rather than ordering me to follow them to the letter. My mistake," he apologized, bowing almost to the floor.

The king was unamused. "If it were only a 'suggestion,' I would never have bothered to tell you it in person," he snapped. "And now that I've told you _twice_ , I'd better not see or hear anything else from you after this."

The comment was meant to sting, and in spite of Hans's best-built defenses, it did. "Of course, Your Majesty," he said, and kept his head bowed. "You won't hear - or _see_ \- a thing."

The king's frown dissipated. "Good. That's settled, then. You may leave."

Hans bowed again, and his expression returned to neutral as he walked away.

As soon as he exited the throne room, however, the image of rosy cheeks flashed through his mind, clearing the one of his brother's smug countenance away.

A smile broke out on his lips.

* * *

" _Then teach me."_

" _... well, I would be honored, Your Highness. Though there may be some logistical issues to consider before we can begin…"_

" _I'll leave you to figure those out."_

" _Of course, I'd be happy to do so_. _But at least give me an idea of when I might be able to see you again in more private_ _circumstances?"_

" _There will be a ball in the gallery after dinner. Perhaps after that."_

* * *

It was bewildering to him how any of it had come to pass - her visit to court, their meeting again, her candidness with him, his offer to her, her _acceptance_ of that offer - and yet it had, all the same.

She'd parted from him at the end of that exchange with as much poise and unshakeable confidence as she'd had entering it, leaving him to stare after her in wonder. He could barely process the reality of her presence, much less that she was real enough to proposition.

 _There has to be something more to it,_ he told himself throughout the evening, and raked over every word spoken between them. _There's no way she would willingly give herself to me like this._

Perhaps his brother had put her up to it—asked her to seduce her former enemy in order to secure some critical export from the Isles. Or perhaps the queen had suggested it; after all, Hans knew how Karoline liked her games and gossip at court, and nothing would amuse her more than to see him humiliated at the hands of a foreign woman (again). Or, maybe, the Ice Queen herself had concocted some kind of plan to extract revenge on the hated prince while visiting his court.

On reflection, however, none of those seemed likely. In the first scenario, he simply couldn't picture Elsa paying such a price to the king in exchange for goods and services; she was far too independent-minded for that. The second seemed even more improbable, as the two women were too different from one another to scheme in such a way together.

The third he contemplated the longest—not because he found it particularly compelling, but because he'd recognized, in the conversation that evening, an aura of confidence around Elsa that was unfamiliar (and therefore suspect) to him.

Of course, people change over the course of a few years - especially when they'd been hidden away for so many prior, and were just beginning to explore their new lives - but the degree of self-possession she'd displayed was unusual, even in such circumstances. He thought about her calm demeanor and sharp retorts, and puzzled over what was real… and what was part of a facade.

There had been moments during their talk that recalled the Elsa from his memories of her: the hairs rising on the back of her neck when he mentioned the gossip about her; the sadness in her eyes when she reflected on the Spanish prince's lack of feelings for her; and the dark blush that covered her face when she acknowledged the latter's rakish behavior. These instances gave him pause, and made him wonder if the confidence was an act to mask her old insecurities.

If that were the case, then it seemed unlikely that she would be capable of hatching a plan for revenge that would involve something as intimate as what she'd agreed to. Still, the fact that she had agreed to it - no, _suggested_ it herself - in the first place was inexplicable to him.

 _She could have picked anyone else,_ he thought. _It didn't have to be me._

In spite of the rumors of her frigidity following her rejections of marriage proposals from several of the world's most handsome and eligible bachelors, Hans had no doubt that Elsa was just as capable of having certain "needs" and desires as anyone else. (Nor did he find it incredible, having met some of those men in his previous life, that she did not believe any of them capable of satisfying her.) If anything, her nun-like seclusion from the world would make her _more_ curious to explore that side of herself, he imagined.

 _But it shouldn't_ _be me. It doesn't make sense._

After everything he'd done to her and her sister, he couldn't understand how she had decided upon him. He had to acknowledge, though, that there were factors complicating liaisons with other potential partners. In a kingdom as small as Arendelle, the unmarried queen's taking of a lover would be discovered quickly and the stories around it spread like wildfire, potentially undermining her rule. Likewise, if she were to have an "encounter" with a lord in the Southern Isles, he knew for a fact that nothing would get accomplished during her visit in the whirlwind of new gossip created by the affair (this being spearheaded by Karoline, naturally).

Hans supposed that, in comparison to all of those possibilities - and even in spite of their unfortunate shared past - he presented an acceptable alternative.

 _Because I'm invisible._

It was a bitter realization, but not an unfamiliar one, and he guessed that Elsa had come to the same conclusion. As irritated as he was by this, he was nevertheless still confronted with the fact that they had both agreed to this, whatever it was, and he - as a "teacher" - now had a duty to provide his "student" with the "education" she desired.

 _Of course, I'd be happy to do so._

That was what he'd told her, in his moment of lunacy; and yet, he had to admit that a part of him relished the thought of "teaching" the Queen of Ice and Snow a thing or two. In fact, her cold beauty had partly enchanted him into agreeing to this arrangement—and he couldn't deny that he had sometimes thought about the feeling of her body pressed to his when he'd brought her down from the mountain, and wondered what that would be like under different (well, conscious) circumstances.

Equal to that carnal desire, however, was the appeal of challenging her newfound assertiveness to see how deep it ran. Would she fight him at every turn, refusing to give him an inch? Or would she work against her own instincts, let him "teach" her in his own fashion… and let go?

 _Well, a man can dream,_ he thought, tantalized by the idea. _And in the meantime, I have a lesson to prepare._

The clock struck nine, and the ball was in full swing.

* * *

"If you'll excuse me, Your Majesty, I'll just step out for a moment."

"Of course, Queen Elsa. Just be sure to be back in time for the string quartet!"

He watched as Elsa smiled at his sister-in-law before stepping out of the gallery with two handmaidens in tow, the massive crowd of already-inebriated lords and ladies parting to let them pass on their way to the balcony overlooking the palace gardens.

He couldn't follow her there - even with his knowledge of the grounds, there were some places that were simply too public - and so he held to his position on the other side of the room, hidden in the darkened corridor to another part of the gallery that was closed to visitors. Normally, the corridor provided the ideal hideaway for guests to engage in illicit meetings, and he had already successfully warded off at least three such couples with exaggerated sighs and rolling eyes.

Being so close to Karoline and her coterie, he usually would have eavesdropped in on their conversations; given the task at hand, however, he found himself distracted.

 _You've always had poor timing._

The line made him grin to himself, and he imagined she might say it a second time to him that night.

"She's rather quiet, isn't she, Your Majesty?"

In spite of his best efforts to tune them out, Hans was inclined to listen. Karoline sighed in a melodramatic fashion. "Yes, much as I try to draw her out of her icy shell," she concurred. "She insists on keeping to herself. Worse yet," she continued with a huff, "she spoke to that imbecile, Hans, on her own - telling _me_ to let her do it! - and refused to give any details of their conversation this morning at breakfast."

His brow rose in surprise at that, but his lips tilted into a lopsided smile at the thought.

One of her friends from court - _probably Lady Sabine, the cow-eyed one_ , he mused - was likewise mystified by this news, and loudly flapped her fan. "Oh yes, I heard about that! She really didn't say anything at all?"

"Not much," Karoline confirmed, and paused to gather up her indignation. "Only that it had been a 'civil discussion' and that they'd 'parted on mutually agreeable terms,'" she quoted in a mocking voice, adding: "Whatever _that_ means."

His smile widened.

 _Then teach me._

"How odd!" Sabine clucked, and the other ladies tittered in agreement, one after another speculating on the contents of this "civil discussion" (though, he noted with satisfaction, none came close to the truth).

The ringing of bells signalled the entrance of the string quartet into the already far-too-crowded gallery, the group greeted with the usual mixture of polite applause and outright shouting. As if on cue, the handmaidens who'd accompanied Elsa reappeared from outside—but without the visiting queen.

His fingers flexed with anticipation inside of his white gloves.

"Where is she?" Karoline demanded. "Why didn't she come back with you two?"

One of the girls looked down. "We've very sorry, Your Majesty, but Her Highness Queen Elsa asked to have some time alone before coming back in," she explained. "She said she would return shortly, though—"

"Yes, I'm _sure_ she did," Karoline cut in. "What did I tell you? Always going off on her own," she muttered to Sabine. "Well, no matter! If she wants to miss the quartet, then let her."

"Such a shame, though," another woman lamented. "They're playing all of your favorites, after all..."

Their voices tapered off as he slipped out from his hiding place and the crowd gathered closer around the players at the front of the room. He made sure he would be in her line of sight when she returned (though not quite in that of the guards'), and as he suspected, he didn't have to wait very long. He heard her quiet steps as she re-entered the gallery, and as she passed, he touched her hand.

She nearly froze his. " _Hans?"_ she whispered after a moment, collecting herself so she didn't alert the guards across the hall. _"What are you doing here_ — _"_

 _"Follow me."_

She swallowed at his request, and he smiled as he retreated to his alcove. Once there, he watched as she made a small gesture to the guards of her intention to watch the show, and followed. When she finally joined him, she breathed a sigh of relief, though it was brief.

Her tone was harsh when she spoke. "I thought we agreed on meeting _after_ this," she hissed.

He could see her blue eyes blazing in the darkness. "You suggested that, yes," he replied, "but then you also told me you'd leave me to 'figure out' those pesky logistics, and so I did just that."

She glared at him. "And _this_ was the best you could come up with?"

"You asked me to teach you," he reminded her, "so let me."

His smile dissolved a little, and he pressed her hand in his, drawing small circles with his thumb into her palm as the players began a quadrille. The courtiers quickly assembled in lines facing one another, practically stepping over each other in their eagerness to dance.

She shuddered, and then sucked in a breath of alarm as he pulled her in closer to him. "What—what are you doing—"

"Just relax," he told her, and turned her around so that her back was flush against his chest. He smirked against her ear. "I won't bite."

Her skin felt unusually warm beneath his gloves, and she tried to retract her hand from his. "That's not funny," she said, though not without a hint of nervousness as she looked out into the crowd. "If they find us here, they'll—"

He held it fast. "You don't need to worry about that," he replied, and gestured to the guards swaying along with the movements of the dancers, some of them even holding up their own half-empty wine glasses. "As you can tell, there's not a lot for them to do around here."

She looked back at him with a frown. "Then why have guards at all?"

He shrugged. "To keep up appearances, of course. Now stay still, please."

He was curious to see if she would respond to the command, a part of him expecting her to freeze him into a stalactite. The tremors running through her hand seemed to indicate her discomfort with the arrangement, and though he couldn't blame her for wanting to back out already, he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed at the thought that this little experiment would end so soon.

To his surprise, however, she relented; when he felt her arms go slacker, his grasp on her hand softened. "Fine," she murmured, though not without resentment. "We'll do this your way."

He forced down the heat that coursed through him as he placed his hands on her waist, and smiled when she tensed at the movement. In her inexperience, he found her charming.

" _Relax, Your Majesty,"_ he whispered against her neck, and her back arched as his hands caressed her sides. _"You won't learn anything, otherwise."_

Her breath hitched in her throat as she adjusted herself against him - she had felt something stir behind her - but remained defiant. "I can learn just fine without you talking so much," she snapped, and fixed her eyes on the dancers just beyond the shadows.

He chuckled, drawing her back as she wiggled in protest. "But it's such a waste to be here, in this beautiful gallery, without a proper guide to tell you about the pieces inside of it," he said, "and aren't you even a little bit curious to know more?"

Her fidgeting abated, though he could tell she was still displeased from the drop in temperature around them. "So you're an expert on art now, too?"

"There wasn't much else to do around here for the last two years," he retorted, and earned an eye roll from her. He ran his hands along the prickling skin of her arms down to her fingertips, gesturing to the wall opposite them. "You'll see across from you a series of royal portraits," he began again, relishing the quickening of her breath at his touch. "They date back to the fourteenth century. There's King Magnus VI in the left corner, looking rather full of himself—not unlike the current king named after him."

She frowned, and he grinned. "Quite impressive that they managed to keep these old things in such good condition, don't you think, Your Majesty?"

A chorus of laughter answered him as the quadrille ended, followed by shouts of "again, _again!"_ as he let one of his hands wander up Elsa's rib cage until it rested close to the underside of her right breast, and stopped.

Her breath caught in her throat.

He smiled against the bare skin of her arm. "I apologize for keeping you from the dance."

The players obliged the crowd, and Elsa pressed her hands together to keep herself steady as he teased her further, his other hand smoothing the fabric of her dress over her legs. "I don't dance, anyway," she said after a moment. "You know that."

He remembered the dour, serious expression she wore the evening of her coronation, and laughed. His hand dipped in the space between her thighs, pausing there. "Yes, I do," he said, his fingers pressing her flesh through the dress, "though it's not so hard to learn, if you were so inclined."

She didn't answer, but her skin felt warmer.

The dancers, more intoxicated than before, swirled before them in a blur of colors and shrieks. He continued his tour. "I'm sure you brushed up on the history of the Southern Isles before you came here," he said, "but I've always enjoyed being able to put names to faces, myself. Take that cluster in the center, for instance: the Frederick's and Christian's," he explained, "a line of great kings, if lacking in imagination when it came to naming heirs."

He added, after a moment: "I wished for a long time that I could change my own—after all, there's never been a 'King Hans.'"

"And there never will be," she murmured with smug satisfaction.

He regretted the admission immediately, but went on to trace the outline of her breast. She suppressed a moan, and he continued: "Yes, well, the names haven't been any more interesting since then. Not that the men they belonged to were, either."

He was sure she wasn't even looking at the paintings anymore, from the way she leaned into him. Still, he thought, it made things more fun if he kept it up. "It would seem that royal portraiture doesn't strike your fancy—fair enough," he observed, and kissed the back of her neck. "There's plenty more to see."

A couple of dancers passed close by - almost close enough to see them - and Hans pressed Elsa further down so that she could truly _feel_ him under her.

"Take, for example, the smaller wall to your left, lined with historical figures. Do you recognize any of them?"

Elsa quivered in reply.

"Of course you wouldn't recognize all of them, since they're not well-known in Arendelle," he offered, brushing away a stray hair from the nape of her neck. "Like Leif the Lucky, the great explorer of the Americas, or Tordenskiold, our treasured mariner-warrior." She craned her head back, giving him fuller access to her collarbone. "I fancied myself in his company, when I was in the Navy."

She closed her eyes, still not answering him (and probably not listening, either), and he sucked briefly on the queen's earlobe before continuing: "As for the others, doubtless you've heard of them: Queen Elizabeth, Solomon, Admiral Nelson, _Jeanne d'Arc_ —"

She twitched under him and her eyes snapped open, squinting at the wall he described through the sea of swirling dresses and clapping hands. He paused, curious at her sudden interest in his lecture… but also startled by it.

 _What is she looking for?_

He didn't like the change, nor the way her skin ran cold as a result. He rubbed her breasts directly to get her attention again, caressing the bare top revealed by her dress, and her eyes rolled back with a groan.

She panted as he touched her, and it was becoming painful to keep himself in check as her hips instinctively ground against his. He swallowed, holding her to him as his hands ran over her thighs, making them quake. "The gallery in Arendelle wasn't bad, for its size," he remarked at length, "but wouldn't you agree that this one has more to offer?"

A loud chorus of applause rang out from the audience of courtiers, but the guest of honor remained mute even as Hans came to a gradual halt in his teasing ministrations, her body still molded to his.

As she collected herself, however - first standing up straight, then placing her hands back at her sides, and finally showing her back to him as she stared at the gallery floor - she returned to the Elsa he had come to know, cool and regal. He followed her lead, patting down his jacket lightly, and she turned to face him.

Irritation was knitted into her brow. "Next time," she said, "I'd prefer somewhere less crowded."

He bowed his head, hiding a smirk. "Of course, Your Majesty."

She didn't give him a second glance as she stepped out, and once she was out of earshot, he joined the others, clapping with newfound enthusiasm.

A grin was plastered to his face.

 _She was blushing._


	3. III

**III.**

He found the note later that evening.

It had been slipped under his door, likely before he'd gotten back from the ball, and he blinked with surprise as he picked it up and opened it with still-gloved hands.

 _Quarter past 11 at the edge of the rose garden tomorrow evening._

 _No_ _surprises._

It had been written in haste, with letters of words overlapping, uneven creases, and a few ink stains blotted on the otherwise clean parchment, but the script itself was the work of a practiced hand.

He supposed she'd had many years to perfect it, being locked away in her room for so long; something like a stab of sympathy struck him at the thought. Perturbed, he pushed away the feeling as he re-read the note a few more times, and then folded the paper back up and stuffed it inside of his jacket.

The document left him with more questions than answers. How had she, for instance, gotten it to him in the first place without being seen? He guessed that she could have had it delivered through a trusted servant of some kind, although the servant would've been seen by another, and the ones in this palace... well, they liked to talk as much as their queen did.

Giving the Snow Queen the benefit of the doubt, he granted that there was some chance, if small, that the letter had made its way to him without drawing too much attention. On the other hand, he wondered how she intended to circumvent her guards and handmaidens in order to meet him the following evening. At least at the ball, they'd had the advantage of getting lost in the crowd; out in the garden, their meeting would be far more conspicuous.

He remembered how she'd managed to so quickly escape her coronation ball fiasco, gliding on ice across the fjord all the way up to the Mountain, and again when she destroyed the prison cell he'd put her in after bringing her back from there. Although in both instances she hadn't exactly gone silently into the night, he didn't put it past the young queen - who seemed in much better control of her powers - to have learned some new tricks since the last time he'd seen her.

Over these concerns, however, another thought loomed large in his mind.

 _She wants to see me again._

The more arrogant part of him scoffed at the notion - _of course_ _she wants to see me again, why wouldn't she?_ \- but the more cautious part, developed in the wake of his imprisonment within the palace, had read her note with a niggling feeling of disbelief.

 _Can she really be so eager to continue this?_

It had taken him aback to find it so soon after their first "lesson" had ended, not to mention how it had already laid out a time and place for the next one. It expressed a keenness to continue which seemed unusual in light of her caustic attitude towards him.

 _After all, there's never been a "King Hans."_

 _And there never will be._

He frowned at the memory, and then there was also the matter of the odd pause she'd taken in the midst of it, when he'd been listing off the figures in the historical paintings. It bothered him for reasons he couldn't quite place, and he failed in trying to remember which name it had been that set her off.

 _But why should it have bothered her?_

He rummaged through his mental archives for some possible explanation, but the only thing that came to mind was a fleeting recollection of there perhaps being a similar painting in Arendelle's gallery, which he might have seen in passing on Anna's whirlwind tour of the palace during his first night in her kingdom. As to the significance of any of it, however, he had no clue.

At the same time that he acknowledged these curious details, he recalled her breathlessness at even the lightest touch - the panting, moaning, and eventual loss of speech altogether - and he couldn't help but smirk. He'd certainly had a powerful effect on her once she'd ceded control to him, and he imagined that she would want to experience those same sensations again in short order.

He couldn't deny that he desired the same. The feeling of her lithe, small body pressed up against his own - not weak, but willingly powerless to his advances - set his heart pounding and his stomach afire. Other memories replayed themselves with startling clarity: the sound of her breathing growing ragged; the flush in her pale cheeks darkening her entire, lovely face; the smell of her golden hair; and the taste of her sweat-beaded skin.

It was all painfully arousing to the point that he began stroking himself through his trousers, sighing with relief as pleasure flooded his senses. He only wished that she were there to do it for him, and with those tempting pink lips he had yet to claim.

Suddenly, tomorrow evening seemed very far away.

He pulled down his trousers and undergarments for easier access to his throbbing erection, picturing every moment of their encounter as he picked up speed, breathing heavily.

 _Next time, I'd prefer somewhere less crowded._

He smiled at that parting comment, and at her look of utter disdain. It made him want her even more... especially when he thought of it alongside the blush she'd worn as she stalked off.

 _You'll have what you desire, Elsa,_ he thought, gasping. _But only when I want_ _you to have it._

Sweat broke out on his forehead as he neared the edge, driven ever closer by the fantasy that it was _her_ fingers clasped around his shaft, _her_ lips parted and moaning his name, _her_ blue eyes meeting his hungrily—and just as he felt himself about to finish, he stopped.

 _Not now._

He panted as he pulled the note out of his jacket, and stared at it with longing.

 _Not until I can have you._

* * *

The next day passed slowly - painfully slowly, it seemed - as he awaited their meeting.

He felt in equal parts intolerable anticipation and breathtaking patience as he counted off the hours, minutes, and seconds until then, following the news that filtered out about the Snow Queen after each of the day's events.

There'd been the usual breakfast in the morning with the King and Queen, and this time a few of his brothers had joined them. He guessed that only the good ones had been invited, thinking in particular of the chaplains, the "respectable" businessmen, and the diplomats. It was better, anyway, that she not meet the others, made up of the useless layabouts, shut-ins, or military sorts. He couldn't imagine any of them (nor their spouses) making a good impression, even if they tried.

Following that, he'd caught glimpses of her as she'd come and gone from the palace grounds, or in and out of meeting rooms with Magnus and his advisers. The main subjects of the discussions were of little interest to him - probably negotiations over trade, as he'd heard that the _akvita_ produced in Arendelle had become popular with the drunks at court - though he presumed that with some gentle persuasion, he could find out the details from Elsa herself.

He could've even sworn, at one point, that she'd glanced back at him, catching him staring from the shadows—but dismissed the thought later, certain that he had only seen what he'd wanted to see.

(It had been harder to dismiss, however, the accompanying chill that had run down his back.)

The day was concluded with another lavish dinner party, though, as per Elsa's instructions, he steered clear of it. Of course, he could still hear it from his quarters, far away as they were from the activities. By his estimate, it took about an hour after the first course had been served for the party to devolve into ear-splitting, inebriated squealing. He assumed that by the time he would find her later that evening, she'd be boiling with irritation after all of that.

 _Just how I like her._

A lopsided smirk found its way onto his lips at the image of the Snow Queen stuck at the edge of the long table in the dining hall beside Magnus and across from Karoline, working hard to keep swallowing the scowl that threatened to surface at her troublesome company. For all her poise and grace that she seemed to have found in the years since he'd first met her, he didn't think it would hold up all that well in such trying circumstances.

 _Save it for me, Elsa._

He wanted her to hold onto that anger - feed it, nurture it - and show it to him instead. He desired it more than anything else, if only so that he could break it.

And in breaking it, break her.

* * *

"You're not where you're supposed to be."

He raised a single eyebrow, and then shrugged. "But you found me anyway."

She frowned. "Not without some effort and wasted time," she snapped, crossing her arms. "I don't know the grounds as well as you do, or did you forget that?"

"I didn't forget," he replied, watching as her chest rose indignantly under the constraints of her form-fitting, light green dress. "But I also assumed you were smart enough to know that even the 'edge' of the garden is too obvious a place to meet, and that you wouldn't find me there."

Her frown deepened. "Well, it's now half past the hour, and you've brought me to this... _place,_ " she remarked, gesturing at their surroundings, "which is one you know full well I never would've chosen myself."

A grin twitched on his lips. "I know the conservatory is probably a bit warm for your tastes," he acknowledged, drawing a glare from the queen. "But you have to admit: there's little chance we'll be disturbed here."

He glanced around at the multitudes of flora and fauna that filled the space from floor to ceiling, allowing them excellent cover from prying eyes, and admired the way Elsa was framed by the palm tree to her right. She looked completely out of place there, with her pale skin and light eyes; and yet, the knowledge that they were alone again brought back all of his improper thoughts from the night previous.

He touched the open lips of a Venus flytrap sat nearby, watching as they closed in slow motion with a smirk. Elsa rolled her eyes (though, he noted, not without a small blush peppering her cheeks), and before resuming her accusing stare at him. "Perhaps not," she admitted, "but I don't see how I'll be able to... _learn_ anything in this awful heat."

Her face contorted with that word - _learn_ \- and he had to hold back a smug look. "You'll learn," he reassured her, falsely sympathetic to her discomfort, "and what's more: you'll enjoy it, too."

Her blush darkened, and the color was complemented by the abundance of greenery that surrounded them. A light sheen of sweat was starting to break out on her forehead. "You're always so confident," she muttered, "even when you shouldn't be."

His hands twitched at the comment, though he let it slide off him. He smiled coolly at her. "It comes in handy sometimes—for example, when foreign queens request to be propositioned."

She was positively crimson. "All right, you've made your point," she ground out, her hands clenched into fists. "Can we just get on with it, already?"

He was surprised at her response - he expected her to express regret at entering into this arrangement, considering the anger and embarrassment apparent in her tone - but then he'd expected her to do that every time they'd met, and she hadn't. At the same time, her impatience was refreshingly honest... and incredibly tempting.

Turning his back on her, he walked towards the far wall of the conservatory, sighing in the humid air. When he arrived at the wall, he faced her again, and lowered his voice to an inviting baritone.

"Come here, Elsa."

Her body was stiff with propriety as she followed in his footsteps (it was obvious that she didn't like him addressing her so informally), and she stopped just a few paces in front of him. The air between them was thick.

"And then?" she asked, her nose wrinkling.

He took her hands in his, enjoying the shudder that ran through her fingers at his touch, and drew her in until they were nose-to-nose. He placed her palms against his chest, taking some comfort in their coldness. "Have you ever heard of _delayed gratification_ , Your Highness?" he murmured against her ear, making her shiver.

"Of—of course I have," she rejoined, biting the inside of her cheek. "I'm not a fool."

"I didn't say you were," he replied. "But you know the saying, Your Majesty: 'all good things come to those who wait,'" he reminded her, adding: "Though it's not one I've always followed myself."

She huffed a little in agreement, though the sound (and, perhaps, the sentiment) was tempered by the fact that one of his hands had left hers to freely roam her backside, squeezing it for emphasis at the end of his speech. "I know you're eager to 'learn,'" he continued, finding the ties to her dress at the back, "but you said yourself that you'd do things my way—and that requires patience on your part." He undid the first knot in the sequence, and kissed the nape of her neck with a grin. "Difficult as that might be."

The queen breathed in sharply, her hands still pressed to his chest. "I've spent my whole life being patient," she snapped, digging her nails into the fabric of his linen shirt, "and I won't be told to wait anymore." She glowered at him. "Especially not by _you_."

He paused, his right hand still resting on her bottom; the other, which had by then undone nearly half of the back of her dress, drifted up until it cupped the side of her unhappy face. The sight of her breasts practically spilling out of the top of her dress should have distracted him, but when he met her gaze - her blue eyes alive and storming with a bright, rebellious fire - he could hardly tear his own away from it.

 _She wants me._

"Well, then," he said finally, "I guess I'd better get on with it, shouldn't I?"

"Yes," she agreed, "you should."

Both hands reached behind her to continue untying her dress, and his eyes never left hers.

 _So let her have what she wants_ , _for now._

"As you wish, Your Majesty."

She didn't move from her spot as he undid each knot, one by one, taking his time... nor did her eyes grow any less furious when the dress unravelled at last and fell in a pile around her feet, leaving her only in her white corset and matching silk petticoat.

"You must have been uncomfortable wearing this all day," he remarked as his hands deftly undid the corset, familiar enough with the garment to not need to see its particular construction. "Especially at dinner, with all the shouting and drinking." His eyebrow rose when she sighed a little with relief after the first few laces had been pulled apart. "I'm surprised you didn't just conjure a dress of ice for yourself."

Her cheeks flushed as she sucked in more air than was possible before. "And I don't know why you care," she breathed out, anticipating her freedom from the restrictive clothes. "But yes _,_ it can be... unpleasant, to say the least."

"The corset, or the company?" he quipped, reaching the end. She panted a little as it fell away from her to the floor, the light _thud_ breaking her concentration. She looked down, her hands gripping the front of his shirt more tightly, and pressed her naked torso against him - out of modesty or to keep herself steady, he couldn't be sure - before answering him.

"Both, I suppose," she said, resting her head against his chest and closing her eyes. "Both."

It was a vulnerable display, he thought, compared to her show of bluster just a few minutes earlier. It made his heart beat softly as he stared at her, one hand absently stroking her light hair. "There's a reason I left," he told her, too honestly for his own liking. "You're discovering that now for yourself."

Her palms grew cold upon his skin - _I_ _said too much,_ he thought with alarm - but before he could recoil from her touch, they returned to a more comfortable temperature. "And now you can't leave," she observed, though it seemed to him that her tone wasn't as indifferent and cruel as it had been the night before. She looked up at him again, and her pink lips curved down. "And neither can I—not for another week or so, anyway."

He felt an unusual sting in his chest at that, though he wasn't sure why. He'd known from the beginning that her stay would be short, the typical length of a diplomatic visit (if not a little longer to smooth over the bad blood between their kingdoms on account of his own actions), so it wasn't a surprise that she'd be leaving soon.

 _One week._

He shook off the thought, and refocused his attention on her with a sly smile. "Then we shouldn't waste any more time."

His fingers found their way to the back of her petticoat, untying the final knot on the final article of clothing, and slid the fabric off with deliberate lassitude as he kissed his way down from her ear to her neck, collarbone, the dip between her breasts - hovering there to briefly suck each of her nipples, drawing out a soft moan from her - and then continuing on to her stomach, pressing his lips to every inch of her flesh as it was revealed to him.

The waistband of her petticoat remained loosely bunched up in both of his hands as they traveled down, until they paused at her knees. At the same time, his nose drew a line to the wisps of blonde hair below her navel, and he took in the scent of her as she shuddered.

It was a heady fragrance, stronger even than anything emitted by all the flowers that surrounded them, and as he pressed the folds of her entrance apart with his tongue, he had to grip her knees to keep her trembling legs steady. Her fingers buried themselves in his hair, the sweat from her palms slick against his scalp as they pushed his face more firmly against her wet center.

He paused to catch his breath - the humidity in the room, combined with the taste of her, was suffocating - but when he looked up from the ground and caught her staring down at him with darkened irises, dilated pupils, and lips red with desire, he sunk straight back into her, sucking gently on her clitoris.

She grabbed his hair tighter in response, moaning loudly before she had the sense to muffle the noise, and he ran his hands up and down the backs of her legs as his tongue alternately teased and lapped at her core. His breathing, in turn, was thick and hot against her thighs, and he struggled to keep his senses in check as her wetness soaked his mouth and cheeks, running even under his chin.

He could tell she was close as her pulse quickened under his touch, and though her legs shook against him, he let one of his hands drift until it was level with his mouth, sliding one finger - and then another - inside of her.

She gasped a little at that, though he was far too involved in his efforts to take too much pleasure in the sound (and, more to the point, far too distracted by his own stiflingly hard erection beneath his trousers). Her trembling worsened still, and he thought she might tear out a part of his hair as her pleasure reached its zenith—

And then her grip relaxed all of a sudden as she gave a little choked cry with her release, and he eased off from her slowly, struggling to see (and think) clearly.

At first, he tried to stand back up again so he could face her properly (though his cock ached so terribly, by that point, that the effort felt like some cruel form of torture). To his surprise, however, she fell into him, shaking as she grasped his arms. He sat on the floor with his back straight against the wall, helping her down until she was in his lap.

The Snow Queen automatically nestled her body against his once there, her head resting in the crook of his neck as she fought to breathe normally. He didn't mind her sweat soaking through his shirt and trousers, nor the added heat of her body atop his in the already balmy room. If anything, the sensations calmed him, and as a few quiet minutes passed by them in this manner, his earlier pain and discomfort ebbed away, and his heartbeat aligned with hers.

 _She feels different._

He caressed her damp hair lightly with a free hand, the other resting atop her knees, now curled towards his stomach. It occurred to him that he could've easily hurt her then, if he wanted to - her powers seemed to be less effective in warmer conditions (or in circumstances wherein she was otherwise occupied) - and he once again thought himself a fool for not trying with her when he'd had the chance.

 _Perhaps you could've gotten_ somewhere _with her, after all._

It made him wince a little to remember his past assumptions, fuelled by ignorance and blind ambition. Still, he wondered if he really would've ended up where he was then, had he tried a different tack two years before. Somehow, he doubted it; he had changed, and obviously she had as well.

 _But how much?_

He still wasn't sure, and that uncertainty nagged at him even then, with the queen naked and soft against him.

She stirred a little and sat up again, not looking at him. Her gaze drifted towards her clammy hands for a moment, and then to her discarded clothes a few feet away. "That was..." she trailed off as a light blush peppered her cheeks, and glanced at him shyly. "It felt good."

He smiled. "I'm glad," he replied, and wiped the sides of his mouth with the back of his hand for effect. "That was my aim, after all."

She swallowed audibly, her blush growing, and said nothing as she stepped away from him, pulling her clothes back on piece by piece.

He rose to stand. "Here, let me help you," he offered as she picked up the corset. She wordlessly allowed him to proceed, staring ahead at the same flytraps he'd teased her with before. He almost felt a little disappointed that he couldn't see her expression from behind as he nimbly laced her back up in the corset, and then into the green dress.

Her back remained tight and taut throughout.

He felt the need to say something to fill the silence as he worked, unnerved by her tenseness. "I suppose you'll inform me of our next meeting in the same way you did yesterday, Queen Elsa?" he asked, hoping his formal tone might provoke an annoyed response from her rigid form.

She answered him more plainly than he would've liked. "I'll let you know in whatever way I see fit, at a time that best suits me."

He reflexively smiled, but his stomach turned at her tone. "Very good, Your Highness."

When he finished, he stepped around to meet her gaze, and found that it was burning.


	4. IV

**Author's Note:** Thanks all again for your warm and thoughtful feedback. It means a lot! I know it may not seem like it, but this story took me over four years to write, and is by far the most challenging I've ever tackled in terms of theme and perspective.

* * *

 **IV.**

She left him soon after being laced up again, walking out the door of the conservatory with a noticeable lack of care of being seen. Her stride was confident - if with the occasional tremble - and then she was gone.

It happened in an instant, too quickly for him to figure out how she'd done it. The last thing he remembered seeing was the door opening, and then a swirl of ice-blue light as she made her exit. At first, he was stunned; then, when he had a chance to catch his breath, he sighed, suddenly understanding how she had managed to meet him without anyone noticing.

In spite of the wonder of her magic, he found himself pondering over her parting look for longer than he would've liked. Had she been enraged? Or just embarrassed? It could've been anything, and he had to acknowledge that for all the time he'd spent with the Snow Queen, he still didn't know her well at all.

The idea that he was nowhere near such a place of confidence was irritating. He prided himself on being able to find out little-known details about other people through his powers of persuasion, and initially, he'd thought he could do the same with Elsa.

It had become clear to him, however, that his usual tactics weren't working with her (or at least not as well as he'd hoped). There had been moments here and there when she'd been vulnerable with him, but they'd been only that—moments. In fact, when he looked back on the last few days with a clear head, it became obvious that very little of substance had been said between them.

But he wanted more, and he wasn't sure why.

* * *

He received word from her around noon the following day.

It was again delivered via a hastily-scrawled note, slipped under his door—though this time he was in his room reading a tragically terrible romance novel, and heard (and saw) the paper slide along the wooden floor below him.

He jumped up from his seat, slamming the book shut and tossing it aside as he opened the door, hoping to catch the messenger before (s)he had gotten away. His head whipped from side to side, surveying the dark corridor to whence he'd been relegated for the last two years, and thought he saw the very edge of a dress as it skirted around the corner.

He was half of mind to go and chase the person and demand to know for certain if all of this was really happening completely in secret, or if he was being made a fool of by Elsa and the entire court while he brooded and pondered over her "true" feelings. Not being sure if he had seen someone, however, he found that the other half of him was more desperately curious to go back and read the note.

 _You're an idiot._

He cursed himself even as he closed the door behind him, staring at the folded paper with a mixture of anticipation and resentment. He was giving her exactly what she wanted by reading these, meeting her at her chosen locations, pleasuring her, "teaching" her... and whatever physical benefit he got out of it, it didn't seem like it was enough to justify fulfilling her whims.

 _She's winning, whether you read it or not._

The idea made him frown, and he was tempted to just pick the thing up, rip it in half, and not think about any of it for a second longer. After all, he certainly hadn't agreed to any of this as some way of "repenting" for his sins towards her, and she never directly said or even implied that that was what she really wanted from him, at the end of all of this. In addition, she hadn't given him any more useful information about her time in the Isles than he could've deduced on his own.

(More to the point: he hadn't allowed himself yet, in all this time, to find any release, and his constant, aching need for it was slowly driving him mad.)

 _But maybe if you read it, and see her again... she can help you._

It seemed ludicrous at first - the notion that these "lessons" could in any way soften the Snow Queen towards him, much less to the point that she might petition on his behalf to release him from his house arrest - and upon second, and third, and _fourth_ thought, the idea grew even more absurd.

 _But what do you have to lose?_

He never used to doubt himself so much, he realized, when faced with the challenge of seducing a courtier here or there to get something he wanted; in spite of these circumstances being quite different, he didn't like his own hesitation. Whatever obstacles there were with Elsa - and there were plenty - he wanted, no, _needed_ to overcome them, and to prove to himself that he was capable of learning from his mistakes, and not just repeating them.

 _So do it._

He swallowed his uneasiness and picked up the note.

 _Make her love you._

His hand softened as he opened it, running a gloved thumb along its edge.

 _Make her_ need _you._

* * *

"I was a little surprised when I read your note, Your Majesty," he remarked as she entered the dark room well past nightfall, her face dimly lit by the candle lamp he held up to see her more clearly. "I didn't realize you knew about this room."

She was dressed far less restrictively that evening in a pale-blue chemise with matching slippers, and her long blonde hair was loosely arranged in a braid laid across her chest. Her expression was calmer than usual when she answered. "I noticed the doorway from the gallery even before you made your appearance at the ball that evening," Elsa replied, her brow rising for effect, "and figured you would know how to get in."

The side of his mouth quirked up in amusement. "You were right about that," he said, taking a few steps closer until only the lamp was between them. He turned towards the wall to his right, raising the light to illuminate the paintings hung upon it. "Do you know why this room is closed off, Your Highness?"

"No," she responded, "but I'm sure you're going to tell me, whether I care or not."

He held back a laugh, vaguely agitated; there was something alien about her dry humor. "The paintings in this room were all purchased by the late Queen Mother, or given to her as gifts by visiting nobility," he informed her, looking over the works with an ease acquired from familiarity. "After she died, our late father, King Albert, shut them away in here. He didn't want anything around that reminded him of her."

He allowed himself to indulge in a memory of his mother, and then returned to form. "She was an avid collector of ocean landscapes, as you can tell."

He paused and drew closer to one painting in particular, amazed that it stood out against the garish red and gold paint on the wall upon which it was mounted. It was a scene of a small boat being tossed in the waves during a storm of biblical proportions, with wind and lightning and rain striking from every inch of the dark sky above, and he nearly jumped in surprise when he heard her speak from behind him.

"Did she paint at all herself?"

It was the first time he could recall Elsa expressing any curiosity about him, seemingly without artifice, and he had to shake off the uneasiness that struck him as he turned to face her. "No," he replied finally, cracking a small smile, "she never had a talent for it, though she always wished she could."

She stared at the same painting. "Your father must have loved her very much."

The statement earned a derisive snort from him. "Maybe he did, in his own way," he said, his lips turning down, "but he didn't waste any time in finding another broodmare, either." At her questioning look, he clarified: "He remarried only a few months after her death."

He expected a touch of sympathy from her at this revelation. Instead, she pursed her pink lips and crossed her arms. "Isn't that what kings are supposed to do?" she asked. "Have queens?"

He bristled at her tone. "Perhaps," he said, "though it's not quite as important for kings to have queens as it is for _queens_ to have _kings_."

Her frown was bitter in reply.

 _There_ — _that's_ _what I wanted to see,_ he thought, triumphant at having earned her displeasure.

After a few seconds passed in this way, however - her glowering at him, brimming with unspoken anger - he began to feel a little anxious at the expression, and found that it didn't satisfy him to antagonize her as much as it had before.

 _You're getting soft_.

Nevertheless, watching her look contort from one of indignation to one of resigned exasperation, his heart constricted. "I'm sorry, Elsa," he apologized before he realized that he was speaking. "That was uncalled for."

The Snow Queen's bright blue eyes widened, making him regret saying anything at all. Then, to his surprise, they softened and looked at the ground. "I'm... sorry too, Hans," she said at length, stumbling over the words as they came out. "You loved her very much—I can tell." She paused and clutched her bare, quivering hands to her chest. "I loved my mother a lot, too."

He couldn't be sure as to how genuine her apology really was - after all, he'd seen enough pleas for forgiveness at the feet of his late father and older brother by then to know that most people were rarely ever remorseful unless their survival (or reputation) was on the line - but he knew that the pain in her eyes was real.

He put the lamp on the floor and carefully slipped his arm around her waist, drawing her in closer as her face grew obscure in the darkness. She didn't resist. "I heard about what happened to your parents," he said. "It must have been horrible for you."

She rested her forehead against his chest awhile, just as she had the previous evening. "I only visited their graves for the first time after the Thaw," she admitted. "Three years after they passed away. I think I blamed myself for their deaths, somehow."

His heart _thumped_ at the smallness of her voice, almost disappearing into the dark silence of the gallery. His embrace tightened around her as he tilted her chin up with his right hand, drawing her gaze to meet his. "It wasn't your fault," he told her. "It couldn't have been."

Her eyes glistened as her voice grew flustered. "I know that. But still, I—"

 _I feel guilty._

His grip on her momentarily relaxed, and he could feel her heart pounding beneath his.

 _Was that her thought, or mine?_

His throat contracted to the point that he struggled to speak again. "These things take time," he forced himself to say, and inched his lips down towards hers. "There's no shame in that."

Her breath hitched in her throat at their closeness, his nose brushing against hers as he leaned in further—and then her face turned away from his, looking back at the entrance.

"I suppose not," she agreed.

He was startled by her reticence, if not disappointed by it. It reminded him that he remained an outsider to her despite their recent proximity. As if to drive the point home, her body - although still flush against his - grew colder, and he shuddered.

 _How did she get in here?_

It was strange, he realized, that the question would only occur to him now. Nonetheless, it nagged at him as it had the day before. As opposed to the garden, there were far more layers of security within the palace's interior to get through to make it into the gallery—layers which he knew well and could bypass with some forethought and planning, but around which a foreigner would find difficult to navigate. He couldn't picture, for instance, her flashing through the great halls leading to this room on a spectacular carriage of ice trails and blinding flurries going unnoticed by the guards.

Combined with her taking an interest in his past life, and even being forthright with him about her own, none of it sat right with him.

 _What is she playing at?_

The suspicions he'd had after reading her letter in the afternoon came back full force, and his arms slackened around her. He stared down hard at her, finding his attention drawn to the shadow her turned neck and chin cast across her chest.

To his surprise, it rose and fell in a stuttered fashion... as if she were nervous.

 _But nervous about what?_

It was too dark to tell from her expression, but the very fact that he could suddenly feel her trembling against him turned all of his cynical thoughts upside down.

 _She's nervous because she told you too much._

That was an assumption on his part, though not an unfounded one. He knew that it had been a dangerous gamble for her to embark on these "lessons" with him from the beginning, and he was certain that she'd never intended for things to develop to this point.

And yet there they were, having just talked about their dear and deceased mothers, still embracing one another as if they were—

 _Lovers._

His heart _thumped_ again, heavier and louder this time, and he swallowed thickly as his grip around her tightened.

"Why did you come to Arendelle?"

 _Or not._

He blinked as the question tore him from his musings, and then sighed. Her timing was hardly better than his own. "You know why."

Her focus on him was hawk-like. "But there were other reasons, weren't there? Besides what you… told Anna."

His mouth felt dry at the pointed query. "I—I wanted to escape this place," he said after a time, and found that the rest of his answer flowed out with unusual ease. "It's suffocating in its boredom, its lack of ambition. I'm sure you can see that now yourself."

Tendrils of ice ran along his arms. "That's not good enough, Hans."

He exhaled into the fog, and it was getting harder to lie. "You're right; it's more than that. It's about my family making me the whipping boy my entire life, the 'Unlucky Thirteenth,' the mistake, and me wanting to prove them wrong," he snapped, his words stifled by the cold. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"It's not about what I _want_ to hear," she countered as snowflakes encircled them. "It's about the truth."

"As if you would believe me, even if I told you?" he retorted. It was hard to see her through the snow. "There's no point in telling someone who thinks you're a liar."

"Then be honest with me, for once."

The ice retreated back to her fingertips, and the snow dissipated until it vanished entirely. His eyes widened at her control, exercised so expertly, and then narrowed as he felt the blood rush back to his cheeks. "And what good would that do me? Or _you?_ It can't change what happened, what I… did."

The admission felt stuck in his throat, though it came out nonetheless. She maintained her determined stare. "No, obviously," she said. "But that's not the point."

His brow rose. "Then what is?"

She hesitated, looking at the floor; he took the opportunity to swallow in the disquieting silence. When she gazed up at him again, her mouth was set in a firm line.

"To stop pretending."

Her answer touched him in a strange way. "I wouldn't know how," he said, and laughed bitterly. "I'm sure you can't appreciate that, though."

"Why? Because you think I can't relate?"

His teeth were set on edge by the question. "Well, can you?"

"Better than you think."

His expression lifted in surprise, and he noted that her eyes were growing increasingly dark as she boldly closed the distance between them again. It made him remember his purpose in that room, and reminded him to be on guard with the newly unpredictable and insatiable Snow Queen.

 _Love isn't enough for her._

"Then show me that you understand," he said in a low voice, stroking her cheek with his thumb. He pressed it against her lips until they parted, and added: "And stop _pretending_."

 _She has to learn._

She stared up at him in defiance even as her breathing grew labored. When he felt her grip relax on his shirt, he slid his thumb into her mouth. "Suck," he instructed; after a moment's hesitation, she responded. "Use your tongue more—yes, that's better," he told her, maintaining as best he could an inscrutable, distant demeanor. "Take your time; you're doing very well."

 _She has to_ need.

Even swallowing felt painful under her ministrations, and for her efforts, he slid down the top of her chemise until her left breast lay naked in his bare palm, pinching her nipple. Elsa's back arched at the sensation, pushing her breast further into his hand.

She slowed down, laving his thumb delicately at first, and then curling around it more firmly with her tongue, rolling the tip between her lips. He held back a groan, and withdrew his thumb from her mouth—though not without reluctance, as her lips lingered on the tip of his finger. "That's very good, Elsa," he complimented as he rolled her other nipple between that thumb and his left forefinger, causing her to gasp. He experimentally pinched harder for a moment, and she shuddered, her cheeks flushed.

He grasped her hands in his own not long after, lowering them to waist-level—and then pressing them against the ties to his trousers. She jolted at the feeling of the tip of his aching erection straining against the fabric under her palms, and looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Oh," she said, and he could feel her pulse racing beneath the skin of her wrists.

He smiled. "Yes, 'oh,'" he teased, making her frown. "Now untie those," he directed, "and do just what you did before."

Her gaze shot up to meet his. "I don't see the benefit in this for me," she replied, her cheeks burning.

His right hand pressed between her thighs, causing them to quake, and his smile thinned. "The benefits aren't always apparent at first, Your Majesty," he said, "but I can assure you that you'll feel them soon enough."

She looked dubious at this promise, and obviously he had no expectations that she trusted him to do as he said. Nonetheless, he felt her begin to undo the tie, her eyes remaining locked with his.

"I'm holding you to that," she said, and lowered herself to her knees.

His head tilted down so he could watch her, enjoying the sight of the Snow Queen sliding his trousers down over his hips. Her fingers brushed his backside, and then paused when the strain of his erection prevented her from pulling down the fabric any further.

A smirk tugged at his lips. "Please continue, Your Highness," he requested. "It'll be quite uncomfortable for you, otherwise."

She glared at him for that, though her blush was fiercer than ever. "Fine," she ground out, and pulled down his trousers so suddenly that he winced in pain. Pleased by the reaction, she smiled at him, and then - _finally,_ he thought - stared directly at his member.

Her eyes were wide, understandably so—he was sure it was her first time seeing one, and a part of him was secretly pleased that his was her introduction. "Just touch it with your hands, first," he told her.

Considering his abstinence from climaxing the last few days, he didn't think he would last very long in the thrall of her slim, smooth fingers. Still, as he watched one of her small hands come up from her lap - first hovering around, and then just touching the tip of his penis - a heat unlike anything he had experienced in years rushed through his body, flooding his senses, and he groaned more loudly than intended.

She recoiled in surprise at the noise, and he swallowed his embarrassment. "Continue," he said.

One of her eyebrows lifted at his command, but she complied, this time trailing her fingers slowly from the tip to the base of his shaft, all the way down to cup his balls, before coming back to the start again. He held in another groan as she repeated this sequence one, two, three times (even that feather-light sensation was enough to send him reeling), and he supposed that she was surveying the terrain, so to speak, before pressing on.

This was confirmed when she wrapped her whole hand around his shaft a few moments later, stroking it more firmly. She paused again when he throbbed under her touch, but this time only for a moment; she'd learned enough by then to realize that the point was to keep going.

Without him prompting her, she picked up the pace and brought her other hand to cup his balls, tugging at them every so often. The combination was enough to throw him off balance, and he panted, catching his breath just long enough to glance at her expression. It was, he noted, fixed with resolve to complete the task he'd given her—and had he been more in control of his senses, he would've found her concentration rather amusing, if not endearing, in its earnestness.

"Slow down, Elsa," he said through shaky breaths, and she did as directed, her hands twitching from their effort. When he regained his composure (though he was still erect, of course), he spoke again, enjoying the continued, lazy caress of her fingers. "It's time to use your mouth."

Her lips quirked down in distaste at the idea as she glanced up at him, and then back at his cock. The tip was already glistening just from being touched; she pressed her thumb against it, drawing a deep moan from him. She took her time - deliberately, he was sure of that - before she let herself nearer to him, craning her neck back ever-so-slightly until the tip was just resting against her lips.

 _She learns too_ _fast._

They opened slowly, as per his ( _idiotic,_ he now cursed himself) instructions, drawing him into her soft, wet mouth. Her tongue ran unsurely along the underside of his shaft, and then applied pressure as she pushed him further in, then out again, mimicking what she'd done to his thumb.

"That's—very good," he said as she sped up, his voice ragged. His cock _pounded_ in her mouth, close to coming, though he had sense enough to add: "But don't forget to use your hands as well."

She paused for a moment to consider these directions, causing him to nearly groan in disappointment. Soon, however, her hands had arranged themselves again around his balls and the base of his shaft, and she continued, the sensations even more intense with the addition of her deft fingers. Her eyes closed as her mouth adjusted to him, her tongue laving him hungrily, and his head dropped back in pleasure.

 _I want her._

His eyes snapped open at the thought, darkly looking down at her face.

 _I_ want _her._

It seemed almost serene to him in spite of her blushing, heaving bosom, and her skin shining with sweat from her effort; he marvelled at how beautiful she was.

 _"Elsa."_

He uttered her name in bliss, and buried his hands in her fraying golden hair.

 _Elsa._

Her jaw constricted a little as he finished in her mouth, and her tongue froze in place. When he'd collected himself enough to look down at her again, he found that her eyes were watching him intensely, a mixture of confusion and irritation swimming in her large, blue irises.

He refrained from smiling. "Now swallow," he ordered, "and I'll see to it that you're taken care of."

She breathed through her nose deeply, twitching, before he saw her throat bob in reluctant acceptance. As she withdrew, she licked her dry lips, her gaze returning to her lap.

He pushed aside his trousers, pooled at his feet, so that he could sit on the floor. Pausing to take in her expression, he pulled her towards him gently, and patted his bare lap. "Come and sit here."

She stared at his now-limp cock a little warily, then back up at him, her spine stiffening. "I'm—" she began, looking embarrassed, "I'm not ready for..."

He nodded. "We won't do that yet," he reassured her, and rubbed her hands in a soothing way. "Not until you're ready."

She paused. "And what if I'm... what if I'm _never_ ready?"

He smiled. "You will be," he said in a hushed tone as he eased her onto his preferred seat atop him. His cock stirred a little at the feeling of her bottom against it, and she shuddered at the sensation, pressing the side of her face against his and letting her arms rest against his chest. "And when you are," he continued, "you'll know, because you'll be _mad_ with desire for it."

He slid his hand beneath her chemise and underclothes, breathing in with contentment as his fingers found her center, already damp with want (no, _need_ , he reminded himself).

Her arms moved up to wrap themselves around his shoulders, and she buried her face in his hair. "Don't say such stupid things," she murmured, gasping when she felt him pull down her drawers so that his cock, now fully erect, rested just along the curve of her backside. She gave voice to his thoughts from the night previous, but her voice trembled when she spoke. "You don't know me at all."

"You're right," he conceded, his fingers pulsing inside of her. "I don't."

 _But I know you a little better than I did before._


	5. V

**Author's Note:** This chapter may provoke more questions than it will provide answers. However, I plan on publishing an extensive note on this story on my Tumblr (link in my profile) for all those interested in the how's and why's behind this tale. (No obscure literary allusions, I promise.) Thanks for sticking it out with me to this point, and please enjoy the final part.

* * *

 **V.**

Days came and went; for him, it felt like weeks.

Hardly a moment passed when she didn't consume his thoughts, his visions, and his dreams, and he could still taste her whenever he absentmindedly licked his lips. His recollections of their last few evenings were tangled up together until he couldn't tell where they ended, or where they began.

 _You said you understood me. What did you mean?_

She was incisive in her questioning, and he'd found himself increasingly at her mercy as their conversations lengthened, deepened, and tunneled into parts of himself that he'd kept hidden away for years. The misgivings he'd had about her motives and her true feelings hadn't gone away - he didn't think they ever would, entirely - but they had become more muted with time.

In turn, the defensive walls she'd barricaded herself with in their first few meetings had begun to crumble, and the outrage that belied all of her previous retorts to him had cooled as well.

 _It was lonely inside of the castle, for all those years. My parents tried to help me, but… they didn't understand who I was, or_ what _I was. They could only look at me with pity, and pray that I could change._

 _But you couldn't._

 _No. But I trusted them, and I thought I could, too. I thought I could be different._

 _And you are._

 _Yes. Just not in the way they hoped I would be._

The pretense of "educating" her was falling away, leaving them in the uncomfortable space of honesty—and the even uneasier one of relating to one another. He had been surprised to see resentment in a woman who appeared, by all accounts, to be grace personified. In retrospect, her confident front at the start made all that much more sense to him.

 _But that's in the past._

 _It doesn't mean that things are easier now._

 _Even though Anna - and everyone else - knows?_

 _She understands, but then she doesn't. None of them do. And it's hard for me to tell her these things about our parents, about… myself._

The revelations made him more careful in how he treated her, and in their intimacy. She likewise grew calmer when he touched her, and her own touch was gentler than before. His guidance, by turn, was more by suggestion than direct order; his words had become hushed and pleasant, and hers less cutting.

 _Then why are you telling_ me?

There were still things she would not allow him to do - to kiss her, to _enter_ her - but she didn't protest when he whispered sweetly into her ear, or kissed the other parts of her face and form. Instead, she would sigh with contentment, curl into him, and bury her face in his chest and neck.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd let someone in this close.

 _Because there's no one else who would listen._

On the rare occasion, when her eyes met his, he saw genuine relief.

 _Isn't it the same for you?_

It terrified him.

* * *

"Interesting choice for today."

"I wanted something a little bit nicer, since it's your… last evening," Hans replied, pushing down the queasy feeling that rose up in his throat. "It's the only place I can relax in this miserable palace."

"I can see why," she agreed, skimming her pale fingers along a row of book spines at eye-level. She paused at the end of the shelf, gazing up at the skylight through which the moon beamed onto the dusty floor of the archives. "It's very peaceful."

He smiled, and traced the outside of her fingers where they remained on the shelf. "I used to come here a lot, when I was younger," he told her, pausing before he added: "Well, more like escaped, when my brothers were after me."

She stared at him with something akin to recognition, and he felt a familiar discomfort at her look.

 _You shouldn't be telling her all of this,_ his mind warned for what seemed like the millionth time. _The more you talk, the less control you have._

He rebelled at the idea. Was he really so disturbed by his own feelings and desires - or _hers_ \- that he had to manipulate and control her, in order to protect himself?

 _You're making yourself vulnerable,_ he reminded himself. _You can't be weak, because she'll hurt you. They_ always _hurt you._

Hans reflected on his life over the last two years since returning from Arendelle, and ground his teeth until he nearly winced from the pain.

 _And what happened to your grand plan to escape this place? To find_ _your own?_

He hadn't broached the topic with her, obviously; since his failed plot in Arendelle, he'd learned to be more patient. At the same time, he had felt himself grow indolent, influenced, perhaps, by the idle nature of the Isles. He was cognizant of the fact that he'd been carried away by her attentions; whatever path for escape had been opened by these "lessons" with Elsa, the idea in and of itself no longer satisfied or excited him.

 _Then what changed?_ he asked himself.

"I snuck into the library sometimes, too," Elsa said, catching him off-guard. "I used to take as many books as my arms would carry, start reading them there, and then bring them back to my room before the servants woke up at dawn." She smiled a little. "My father searched for the second volume of the history of early France for weeks before he finally gave up."

"Did he ever find out what happened?"

It was meant as a harmless quip, but the question elicited a woeful look from the queen. "I don't know," she said, her hand dropping from his. "I should've told him I had it, or put it back, but I just—I wanted it for myself." A tremor ran through her jaw as it locked. "I wanted something that he couldn't take away from me."

 _I wanted more._

He immediately felt guilty. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"I know you didn't," she interrupted. Her expression eased. "We both have painful memories. These things take time to heal."

 _And I think she did, too._

Her words echoed his from a few nights before, and their pertinence was not lost on him. He took her hand in his again, and under the moonlight, it sparkled like a diamond.

Their eyes met. "And do you feel that some things have healed, Elsa?"

 _So maybe this time will be different._

He thought he saw her gaze darken, for a moment; in the next, she looked down with pink cheeks.

"I think so, yes."

 _Maybe this time, you can breathe._

He tilted her chin up and drew her in closer. His hands were shaking as they embraced her. "I—" he stopped. He was tripping over the things he wanted to say, as well as the ones he didn't (but thought he should). "I'm glad."

 _That's all you have to say? Coward._

He heard the question spoken in her voice, though she hadn't said anything. It made him put some space between them, and after a time, he gathered the courage to look at her directly. "What I meant to say, is… I know that I've hurt you, and there's nothing I can do to change that," he said. "I never expected your forgiveness, and I still don't. But I'm glad to know that you're not in as much pain as before."

He watched as her features twisted with the memories of his past crimes, and then lifted in surprise. "I—" he paused again, and felt his jaw slacken as the words fell out. "I don't want you to ever feel that kind of pain again, Elsa."

Her eyes widened, and her lips parted in shock, but she made no reply.

 _You've done it now, Hans._

Her mouth shut after another minute passed in total silence, and then she pressed herself close to him again, their noses near-touching. "I never thought I'd hear you say that," she said at length, her gaze drifting to his lips. "I didn't think that you—"

— _that you cared, or that you were even_ capable _of caring,_ he imagined her saying.

"I didn't think I would, either," he conceded, "but here we are."

"Yes," she repeated, "here we are."

He blushed without wanting to, and she kissed him.

* * *

 _Why did you come here? To the Southern Isles?_

 _I wanted to help reinstate peace between our countries._

 _That can't be the only reason._

 _Not everyone has a hidden motive, Hans._

 _No. But you're not "everyone," are you?_

* * *

When her lips left his, he took what felt like the longest exhale of his life, his breath lingering as a cold cloud in the air. He shuddered as she took his face in her hands again, and drew it down to meet hers.

"Elsa, I—"

She silenced him with another kiss, bolder and blunter than the first.

For once, his mind was clear.

* * *

 _Why did you agree to this?_

 _I didn't want to, at first. Not at all._

 _Then what made you reconsider?_

* * *

The coldness of her skin felt good against the fire in his core as they lay pressed together, his scalp pulled back by her forceful grip and her muscles taut with desire, pulsating under his bare hands.

They were soaked in her essence by the time he finally paused long enough to look at her and admire the want - no, _need_ \- in those blue eyes, illuminated by starlight.

"Please, Hans."

He nodded, and kissed her softly; when he pulled back, she guided his hips towards hers, and he entered her.

* * *

 _I'd been waiting for something in my life to change for so long, and nothing ever did._

 _And now?_

 _Some things are different. But there was still something missing, and I couldn't understand why._

* * *

A flash of pain lighted across her face, and he hesitated.

"Don't stop," she instructed him, and he continued.

* * *

 _I was waiting all that time, and hoping, and praying—just like Mother and Father used to. But I never_ did _anything, and I finally realized that I had to. I had to change myself, so that I could truly be free._

 _I felt the same, once._

 _But you acted on it differently, and you failed._

 _Yes, though I didn't want to accept that._

 _And do you now?_

 _What other choice do I have?_

* * *

He was so close to finishing, and the sounds of her panting and moaning in his ear made it impossible for him to hold back.

"Elsa," he breathed out, his fingers picking up speed against her folds. She cried out suddenly, and he followed her shortly after, groaning as he came inside of her.

Her legs trembled like autumn leaves around him, and he enfolded her within his arms as they fell into silence.

* * *

 _Why didn't you try harder?_

 _At what? Taking over Arendelle? I assure you, Your Majesty—I did everything I could in that regard._

 _No, I meant… why didn't you try harder with_ me? _Isn't that what you really wanted?_

 _You were only a part of it. I wanted everything._

 _Maybe you could've had that. But you didn't even try._

* * *

She felt so small in his embrace, and fragile—reminding him not of the woman he'd come to know in the last week, but of the woman he'd met in Arendelle many years ago.

 _The one I brought back from the Mountain._

He didn't recognize that other person in her anymore, and so that memory jolted him out of his reverie as they laid together on the floor of the library, their breathing returning to normal. He wiped away the last traces of sweat from her brow, and that small action helped to pacify his thoughts again.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She nodded without looking at him, her face turned away from his with her back pressed to his front. "I'm fine," she replied. Her body grew tense.

His brow rose. "You're sure?"

She nodded again, but her skin grew colder, and he shivered.

* * *

 _What are we doing, then?_

 _This isn't_ trying _, Hans. It's just… different. We can't go back to that time._

 _I know that. But what we're doing now isn't what I thought it was going to be, either._

 _It's not what you wanted?_

 _I—I don't know what I wanted, really. Only…_

 _What?_

 _This time, I wanted_ you.

* * *

"That painting of Joan of Arc in the gallery…"

"What about it?"

"There's one like that in Arendelle. It's Anna's favorite."

* * *

 _You never wanted me. You only ever_ preferred _me, because I was the one already wearing the crown._

 _Maybe then. But not anymore._

 _How can I believe that?_

* * *

She was quiet for a while after that, and he struggled to hold her - or even to speak - as she grew colder still.

"Don't you remember it?"

 _You never wanted me._

He bit back a shudder. "The—the painting? No. Not really."

Ice seemed to course through her veins at his reply. "I was sure Anna showed you the gallery when you were in Arendelle. She wouldn't have skipped over that painting for the world."

He inched away from her as his thoughts became muddled and stupefied from the cold, his thin clothes doing little to keep him warm. "I'm sure she did, it's just been a—a while since then," he said, his teeth chattering.

She sat up, and turned her frigid gaze on him. "It hasn't been that long, Hans."

He followed suit, crossing his arms. "What are you getting at, exactly?"

Rivulets of ice ran across her arms, and eventually formed into the shape of a long, blue dress that covered her from ankle to breast. It was the same one, he realized, that she'd worn when he confronted her on the mountain.

"Elsa…" he began, a nervous note in his voice. "What is—"

 _You only ever_ preferred _me._

She conjured manacles of ice that locked him to the bookshelf behind them, and he grunted with pain at the force of impact. Once he sat prone on the ground, she towered above him, the moonlight casting an eerie halo above her.

"What did you think this was?" she asked him, and though she tried to keep her tone even and cool, he could feel the indignation in every syllable she spat. "Did you think that I could ever really forgive you for what you've done? That I could trust you? That I could—"

— _could_ love _you?_

She stopped as the emotion rose in her voice, collecting herself. When she regained her poise, her eyes turned on him, more venomous than ever. "You're weak," she snapped, "and you don't even know what a fool you are."

 _Why didn't you try harder?_

He grimaced at the cold biting into his wrists, and he wriggled against the bonds. "Of course I know," he retorted, earning a glare from her. "And I've been told as much my whole life. But…"

He trailed off as he tried desperately to gather his own courage, to think straight, to think anything at all—but when he met her furious gaze with trepidation, he knew there was only thing he could do.

 _I wanted everything._

"You're right," he started again. "This all started as a lark - a way to get me out of here, even - but it's not like that anymore." He was surprised at the genuine sound of protest in his own voice, louder and stronger than he could have ever imagined it being. "I've told you things about myself that… God knows, Elsa, I've never told anyone else in this world or the next," he confessed, "and you've shared your pain with me in return. Can you really say that none of that was real? That you never felt any of those things, or feel them still?"

"And what use are those to me," she retorted, "your secrets, your confessions?" Her laugh was short and harsh, chilling him to his bones. "None of it excuses or explains what you did."

His wrists were numb as the chains tightened. "Nor did I intend for them to," he said, weary from her castigations. "You told me to stop pretending, and I have." He felt brow-beaten, but still shot her a long, probing look. "But can you honestly say that you have, too?"

He paused for effect, watching as her expression grew increasingly uncomfortable and feeling the room grow even colder.

 _These things take time to heal._

The silence between them was palpable. He could see hints of hesitation, sadness, anger, and regret flash across her face, but none remained in place long enough for him to tell what was going through her mind.

At length, she bent down until she was kneeling in front of him, and her expression turned impassive.

 _I had to change myself._

"Do you remember the name of that Spanish prince who asked for my hand in marriage?"

His teeth rattled, sending low, ebbing vibrations of pain through his skull.

 _He didn't love me, nor did he intend_ _to love me._

"Diego," he coughed out. "His name was Diego."

Her gaze narrowed. "Yes," she affirmed, "Diego. And do you remember what I told you, about what he did?"

He managed a brief, jerking nod, shuddering all over.

Her look grew dark. "I swore on that day that I would never allow myself to be humiliated like that again." Her arms, previously crossed, stood like tight posts at her sides. "That whatever came next, it would be me making that choice, and no one else."

 _It's never just about "love."_

Elsa's fingers curled into fists, and her lips trembled. "So I've made my choice now, Hans. And it couldn't be you." Her stare cut straight through him. "It could _never_ be you."

 _You don't know me at all._

It felt as if her ice had curled around his heart. "Elsa, please…"

Her face twisted up at his plea, and he couldn't tell anymore if it was in disgust or confusion. When she stood up again and looked down at him, he could see that he was a stranger to her.

 _You never even tried._

There was a faint, but distinct, sound of heavy footsteps marching in unison down the corridor of the palace, and fear rose up in his throat like a vise, his eyes widening as he stared at her in horror.

"Elsa, what did you do?"

He struggled against his bonds more fiercely as the noise drew nearer, thrashing as she stood with somber stillness below the light, specks of dust and snow suspended in the air around her.

 _You're weak._

He could hear the front doors to the library burst open a moment later, and his face burned as he sweat from his futile efforts.

"I don't understand," he said, anger entering his voice. "This doesn't make sense, none of it makes any _sense_ —"

She said nothing - not as he struggled and rambled, nor even as the guards came into full view, surrounding them - and was silent still as Magnus emerged from the darkness of the main hall leading to the archives, and came to stand by the Snow Queen.

The blood drained from his face at the sight of them side-by-side.

 _You don't even know what a fool you are._

"You—you planned this with _him?_ My own brother?!" he shouted hoarsely as the shackles of ice disappeared, only to be replaced by the hands of many guards roughly pulling him up onto his feet.

Magnus answered. "We came to an agreement, for the good of both our nations," he stated, all grace and calm. "You have to appreciate what a terrible state you left our relations in, after all."

Hans focused his feral glower onto Elsa, ignoring the King. "Is that it, Elsa? My life, for peace between our kingdoms?"

He could've sworn he saw something like doubt in those blue eyes as her lips opened to reply, and then form a grimace—but she said nothing.

 _Did you think that I could ever really forgive you?_

Magnus replied for her again. "Not your life, Hans. Only your freedom." He turned his attention to the guards. "Please escort the prisoner to his cell."

Hans felt himself boil as the cold began to retreat. "Freedom?" he spat at his brother, and the guards tightened their grip on him, trying to drag him out of the cramped space. He dug his heels in, and they pulled harder. "You call this _freedom?"_

He turned his accusing stare on the Queen, whose blue eyes were clear and hard. "Don't you remember what this was like for you, Elsa? Or have you already forgotten, with your _wonderful_ new life?"

One of the guards punched him in the gut, making him double over in pain and bite his tongue, drawing blood. There was only the crushing embrace of the guards as they hauled him out of the library, and the sound of his own heaving breaths.

 _What did you think this was?_

He tasted the salt of his tears mix with the bitterness of his own blood before he realized he was crying. "You're just the same as him," he ground out, knowing that she couldn't hear him anymore. "As all of them."

They reached the threshold of the library, and from the edge of his bleary vision, he caught one last glimpse of her long, beautiful back through the closing doors.

She didn't speak, but he heard her all the same.

 _Oh, Hans. If only there was someone out there who loved you._


End file.
